


The Things We Disavowed

by ceterisparibus



Series: Prompts! [3]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Claire Temple Deserves Every Good Thing, Concussions, F/M, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 11:38:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18619879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceterisparibus/pseuds/ceterisparibus
Summary: Prompt: “What if Matt, Claire, and Stick were in a room together?”(This turned into a huge Clairedevil thing and I'm not even surprised.)





	The Things We Disavowed

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after the end of Season 2.
> 
> Warning: brief mentioning of human trafficking and the complications of victims of sex crimes testifying in court.

Matt was trying—trying so hard and in so many ways. And this time, it actually seemed like it was working.

Nelson and Murdock weren’t back together, no. Elektra was still gone, yes. And Karen? She said she needed time. And space. But Foggy seemed to be forgiving him, or to be on his way there. Part of it probably had to do with no longer having the pressure of maintaining a business together on top of the pressure of maintaining their friendship. Most of it probably had to do with Matt’s sincere and detailed apology, not given in the heat of an argument or as a desperate bid to fix things between them but just because Matt was really, truly sorry. So at least Matt had Foggy again, even if not in quite the same way as he was used to.

And he had his own small law practice where he didn’t have anyone else lecturing him on the merits of accepting homemade bread in lieu of payment. Or on the ethics of some extralegal problem solving. Mostly, he offered a lot of unbundled services, which basically involved stepping in at different points of the legal process. He helped one client file paperwork, showed up at court for another client who was worried about talking in front of a judge. Unbundled services were a cheaper route for the clients who had some money but not enough to actually retain him. Meanwhile, he enjoyed getting to help wherever he was needed most.

And Stick had completely disappeared.

So it was good, really. Things were good. Slowly but surely, he was rebuilding. And honestly? It was nice. He’d so thoroughly trashed his life both professionally and relationally that appreciating all the little blessings of a relatively normal life was as easy as breathing.

Easier than, actually, since his two cracked ribs currently made breathing…difficult.

But that was fine. Much less immediately worrying than the blood spilling from his arm over the tear in his suit. Matt couldn’t fault Melvin for it. The suit did a good job against knives, usually, but Matt’s own body weight was responsible for driving the broken glass into his arm after he jumped out of the window. Generally, Matt was pretty good at jumping out of windows. But he’d sort of gotten hit on the head immediately before his self-imposed defenestration, which messed with his balance as he fell.

He was fine.

He was also, however, incapable of stitching his arm up on his own, so he tugged his burner phone out of his pocket. He’d been trying not to call Claire, trying to give her space. But this was…this was a lot of blood, showing no signs of stopping anytime soon.

“Matt?” Her voice was sharp on the other end of the phone. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just wondered if you were free.”

“Depends on how close you are to dying.”

He hated that she still saw herself first and foremost as his healer. Nothing more. Then again, he pretty much shut her down every time she attempted to offer anything more intimate than pure medical advice, so maybe that was on him. “Does bleeding out count as dying?”

She groaned into the phone. “Matt, get over here.”

“Thank you, Claire.” He began the trek back to her place, wincing at the throb in his skull. Concussion? Possibly? Probably?

Maneuvering himself onto her fire escape felt surreal, brought him back to a simple black suit and simpler times. He couldn’t bring himself to long for the past, though. Back then, she hadn’t even known his name. He hated that it’d taken her getting beaten by Russians for him to risk revealing himself to her, which didn’t seem so different from how he hadn’t been able to tell Karen about Daredevil until after he’d ruined their relationship. It was a pattern of his. One he wasn’t planning on repeating.

Through her window, he smelled spices from whatever she was cooking. For a moment, he just listened to her light footsteps as she moved around the kitchen, audible under the pleasantly unobtrusive voice of a podcast. But he didn’t have much time to waste. He tapped on the window.

The podcast shut off and her footsteps approached. She slid the window open and hissed in a breath. “You weren’t kidding about bleeding out.”

“S’not that bad.” He rolled his shoulder experimentally as if he could draw her attention to one of the few parts of his body that _wasn’t_ injured. “Can I come in?”

“Yes, idiot.” She stepped aside, gave him room to slither through the window. As soon as his feet landed, she put one hand on his good arm and the other on his hip, steering him towards her couch so he could sit. “How’d this happen?”

He wondered, not for the first time, if she was asking because his answer might inform his treatment or because she just wanted to know. He took off his helmet and she ran a hand through his hair like she couldn’t help smoothing it back into order. “Fell out a window.”

“Have you considered not doing that, maybe?”

“It was an emergency.”

Snorting, she gingerly felt along his arm. “So you also landed on the window, I assume.” She reached for her medical bag, which was setting on the couch beside him even though it smelled of the closet. She’d had to get it out for him. Or, depending on how you looked at it, she’d gotten it out just for him. “If you fell out a window, does that mean the bad guys are still out there?”

His stomach tightened with the sense that he’d somehow let her down. “Yeah. They weren’t my priority.”

“Since when are bad guys not your priority? Brace yourself, I’m pulling this out in three, two—”

She slid the glass out of his arm and he closed his eyes against a wave of dizziness as fresh blood soaked his sleeve. Then he squeezed his eyes shut tighter at the burn of the antiseptic, his whole body clenching despite his best efforts to stay still. His ribs made their protest known.

“What were they doing, anyway?” She poked the needle through his skin. “The bad guys, I mean.”

He breathed slowly through his nose. “Human traffickers.”

The needle paused for an instant. “Oh. And you didn’t tear them limb from limb because…?”

Would she have wanted that kind of violence? “Had to get the kids out first."

“ _Kids?_ ”

Not all of them. Two or three were in their early twenties. But Matt was willing to bet they’d been caught in forced prostitution since high school. Maybe even middle school. One of the girls he’d found was only eleven.

He didn’t share that particular detail with Claire. Wasn’t sure he’d share it with anyone. “Yeah.” He gritted his teeth as string dragged under his skin. “Had to stay until I knew they were out.” But there’d been too many men in that warehouse for him to fight off on his own when they were coming at him all at once like that. Hence jumping out a window. He was just too tired to explain that reasoning to Claire.

But she was no longer pushing him to justify himself. “It might be ironic to say this while I’m sopping up your blood, but I’m glad you were there. For the kids.”

“I’ll go back later. Find the men responsible. See if I can get enough evidence for…” He shook his head, trailing off, distracted by the awareness of just how difficult building a case against them would be. The victims were long gone, and proving a sex crime beyond a reasonable doubt without a victim on the stand was almost impossible.

He rubbed at his eyes. Not that he wanted any of the people he’d rescued to have to go through the trauma of taking the stand. But the thought of their traffickers getting off on, what, kidnapping charges? It was enough to make him wish, just for an instant, that he could operate a bit more like Frank Castle.

 _No_. He’d considered that route before, with Fisk. It wasn’t right.

“Matt?” Claire prompted.

“Huh?”

“You spaced out. I asked if there’s anything else I should know about, since I’ve got you here.” She was running her hand up his arm, checking for breaks or something.

“No, that’s…that’s the worst of it.” He flexed the newly stitched-up arm. “Thank you.” Then he started to push himself to his feet.

She stood up at the same time. “You’re leaving?”

His smile probably looked a little too sad. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your night.”

“Well, you did,” she said simply, “so you may as well do it all the way. You want dinner?”

His mouth watered. “No, I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Hmm. I think you should eat.” She leaned closer and put her hand on his stomach.

He flinched automatically, his good arm twitching up to shield his ribs.

“I _knew_ it,” she said.

“Knew what?” he asked helplessly.

“You were moving way too stiffly for only a stab wound. Sit down.”

“You’re that familiar with how I move?” He returned slowly to his seat, not quite able to feel reluctant about it.

“Too stiff and too sluggish at the same time. I have a pretty good guess what else is wrong with you, but I’ll leave you to be honest with me on your own.” She retrieved the binding from her bag. “How bad are they?”

“Uh…”

“Breath out for me.”

Matt exhaled obediently and couldn’t help enjoying the feeling of her hands on him, encircling his body with the wrapping above and below the injury. “The, uh—”

She shushed him, then tied off the wrapping. “Okay. Now speak.”

“The other thing might be a concussion. I think? Something hit me when I was leaving.”

“And by ‘leave’ you mean ‘throw yourself bodily out of a window,’ right?”

He grinned. “If you wanna get technical about it.”

There was a _click_ as she turned on a light. “Lemme see your eyes.” Slipping her hand under his chin, she tilted his head the way she wanted it. “Yep, you look pretty messed up. How do you feel? Nauseated?”

He shook his head.

“Good. So you have no excuse not to let me feed you.”

“Claire, I—”

“Shh.” Her hand was still on his jaw. “Let me take care of you.”

Why was she being so kind to him? It wasn’t like he’d treated her well recently. Ignoring all the help she offered, turning her hospital into a war zone, getting her friend _killed_. “Claire, I—”

“If you’re about to say you’re _fine_ , I don’t wanna hear it.” She packed away her bag and headed into the kitchen.

Getting unsteadily to his feet, he followed at a safe distance. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“That’s a first,” she said, but there was no bite to her tone as she stirred the soup on her stove.

“I’m sorry I kept pushing you away. It wasn’t fair after all you’ve done for me.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “If it helps, I hated every second of it.”

“Well, that makes two of us.”

He wet his lips. “You were right, by the way. About me…becoming too much like the people I fight. I lost perspective.” He remembered bloody fists and the _snap_ of his wire cutting through Nobu’s neck.

“You don’t need to apologize to me for that.”

“But I want to.” He breathed in carefully, mindful of the tight binding around his ribs. “I should’ve listened. You deserved my attention. My trust. You deserved a…a _conversation_ , at least.”

She didn’t say anything as she placed a bowl of soup in front of him.

“I shouldn’t have shut you out,” he finished quietly.

She still didn’t say anything for several long moments. Then she nodded once. “Thank you. Look, Matt, you’re your own person. It wasn’t my job to…” She tipped her head back like she might find the words she was looking for on the ceiling. “Fix you, or something. So I’m sorry too.”

“Don’t be. Everything you said, I needed to hear it.”

“I’m just saying, maybe I should’ve been more patient. It was just hard for me, because…” She sighed. “I care about you, maybe too much.”

His stomach flipped at the present tense. “You weren’t the only one fed up with me.”

“Right. And how is Foggy?” she asked carefully.

Of course. She knew Foggy. Weird that Claire, so firmly associated with his vigilante life, had mixed with Foggy, so firmly associated with the law, and he hadn’t even been there. “He’s good. Really good. Working at a fancy law firm.”

“You don’t sound upset about that.”

“I’m not,” he said honestly. “It’s not the kind of lifestyle I’d want, but Foggy’s happy. And he still has a soul.”

Collecting her own bowl, she sat beside him. “How do you know?”

He frowned, a bit confused why she was so interested in updates about Foggy. “We meet up. Talk about cases.”

“Did you ever apologize for not visiting him in the hospital?” she asked bluntly.

He felt himself flush. “Yeah.”

She waited a moment. “Good.”

What was that, some kind of test? If it was…he was pretty sure he passed.

“What about you?” he asked tentatively. “How are…things?”

“Things,” she repeated, obviously unimpressed.

“I mean—” He broke off.

“Matt?”

“Shh,” he whispered.

“What?” she demanded, ever contrary.

“Someone’s coming.” He’d know that heartbeat anywhere. He got up from the stool, stood stiffly in the center of the room. “No, no, not now.”

“Am I supposed to know why you’re freaking out?”

His hands curled into fists. “I’m so sorry, Claire. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t…I didn’t realize he was following me.” Hadn’t even realized Stick was back in Hell’s Kitchen.

“How bad is it?” Claire sounded scared, but also like she was trying not to be.

He didn’t want to frighten her, but… “I don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s, uh, someone from when I was a kid. It’s the guy who trained me.”

She let out a whistle. “So, like, a superhero?”

“Ha,” Matt laughed grimly. “Stick’s not a superhero.” He moved to her front door. “He’s on the stairs.”

“But he’s a good guy, right?” She followed him, nervous but still trying not to show it. “Right? Matt?”

“Not really,” he said heavily, resting his forehead against her door. He couldn’t fight Stick like this, which…which…he shouldn’t have to, but Stick also shouldn’t _be here_ at all.

His cane tapped along the stairs just outside her apartment.

Matt swore under his breath. “I’m gonna go take care of this.”

“Wait!” Claire grabbed his arm. It was his good arm, but he still sucked in a breath as his ribs objected. “What’re you gonna do, pick another fight?”

“If I have to.” He unlocked the door.

She slammed her shoulder against the door, shutting it firmly. “Your mask’s on the floor.”

Right. Someone could see him. And now Stick was right outside. Planting his feet, Mat leaned against the door. “Stay back,” he whispered.

Stick’s voice floated through. “Lemme in, Matty.”

It was enough to bring Matt back to a cemetery, standing over the grave of the woman he loved with the man who’d manipulated her into becoming a weapon. Like he’d manipulated Matt.

“Matty,” Stick called.

“ _No está aquí_ ,” Claire called back.

Matt sighed and wrenched the door open. “He can smell me.”

Stick wasted no time before strolling through, dropping his cane by the counter. His left wrist was swollen. Sprained, maybe? “Anyone could smell you, Matty. Left a trail of blood thicker than a river. Might as well hand out invites with her address on ’em.” He turned to flash Claire a dangerous smile. “Nice to finally hear your heartbeat.”

That precious heartbeat sped up. “Excuse me?”

“Just that I’ve smelled you often enough, hanging out at Matty’s place.” He made a show of sniffing the air. “You’re a _nurse_. Or something. That explains some things. Like why he’s still alive.” He slowly tilted his head. “And why you’re alive too, I guess.”

“Is that a threat?” Claire asked in a low voice.

“No,” Matt said quickly. “He just has this stupid belief that anyone in my life will end up dead because of me.” Well, Matt wasn’t convinced that it was actually such a stupid belief. But he told himself it was stupid whenever it started echoing in Stick’s voice. He kept himself between them. “So you found me, Stick. Congratulations. What do you want?”

“It’s not about what I want, Matty. It’s about what you need.”

“No. I don’t need anything—I’m done.” He risked a step closer. “We fought off the Hand, we buried the Black Sky. We’re done.”

“The Black Sky,” Stick said softly, bringing up his hand to rest on Matt’s shoulder, his ancient fingers tapping against the thick material of Matt’s suit. “How’re you doing with all that?”

“Fine,” Matt gritted out.

Stick jerked his chin at Claire. “Did he tell you his girlfriend’s dead?”

Claire’s lips parted.

It was like the broken piece of window was stabbing Matt’s heart instead of his arm. “She wasn’t—she wasn’t my girlfriend, Stick.”

“Oh, right, that was the other one. The reporter. Smells like she cut you lose. Smart girl.”

“Don’t talk about her,” Matt snapped. “I gave you a chance to tell me what you’re doing here, now—”

“Now what?” Stick drawled. “You’ll throw me out? You can barely stand up.” He took a casual step forward, like he was aiming to wander over to the couch.

Matt shifted in front of him. “Leave.”

“If I do, it’s the same as leaving you and your new girlie to a horrible death.”

Claire stiffened, but she remained outwardly calm. As for Stick, his heart beat steadily, but just because Stick believed something didn’t mean he wasn’t also insane. “Then _I_ will deal with it,” Matt growled.

“No, you won’t,” Stick said derisively. “I heard you in that warehouse. You could barely get the kids out, and you left those men to keep doing the same thing the second you look the other way. You’re not dealing with _shit_.”

“He saved those lives,” Claire cut in suddenly.

“Claire,” Matt warned.

“He saved those kids’ lives,” she insisted, edging up behind him. “What’s your name? Stick? If you were there, why didn’t you jump in to help?”

Stick craned his neck like he could see past Matt standing between them. “Those kids, those men, it was all just a distraction. That’s what keeps happening—he gets all caught up in all the wrong things, and as soon as the enemy strikes, he’s useless.” He paused. “I take it back. You can be useful. You’d just be better off if you weren’t tied down by all that pity you carry for every whimpering thing that’ll just die anyway once the war comes.”

Half of Matt’s brain was stuck on one single sentence— _you can be useful_. The other half was furious that Stick was still _here_. “Whatever I do, whatever I feel, it’s my business.”

“Until your bleeding heart gets you killed and I lose another soldier.”

Suddenly, Matt was yelling. “Like you lost Elektra?”

Stick raised his voice to match. “We both lost her, and it wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t dragged her off to save—”

“You knew she was the Black Sky—you would’ve killed her! You _told_ me you would’ve—” He cut himself off, took a deep breath. “Are you back in this city because of some specific threat or not?”

“I’m back because it’s time for you to get your head out of your—”

“Okay, great, we’re done.” Matt walked forward, straight into Stick.

Stick didn’t budge. “The Hand’s coming. Whatever they’ve got planned, it’s _big_.”

“If they’re not here yet, I don’t care.” He shoved Stick. Stick shoved back, and Matt sucked in a breath as pain arced across his ribs.

“Matt.” Claire’s voice unsettled.

Stick drew his sword.

“ _Matt_ ,” Claire gasped.

“Listen to your girlfriend, Matty. We need to have a chat.”

“Not my girlfriend, Stick.” Another shove.

Stick raised the sword, but didn’t strike with it. “If the Hand comes back, you’ll just get her killed by playing around with her.”

See, that was the thing. That kind of logic made sense back he was keeping everyone else tucked away in safe little boxes, boxes reserved for best friends and secretaries and the kind nurse he had a crush on. Didn’t work so well for law partners who yelled at gang members and reporters who befriended the Punisher and the nurse who agreed to use her hospital for the Hand’s victims.

Actually, he should’ve known that logic didn’t work with Claire as soon as she pulled a masked vigilante out of her dumpster.

“Listen to me very carefully,” Matt said quietly. “I’ll do everything I can to keep her safe. But if— _if_ —something happens to her, it’ll be because she decided that helping people is worth the risk. I definitely won’t keep her safer by staying away.”

Stick shrugged. “And then you’ll kill yourself when you lose her, and then I’ll lose you.”

Matt tilted his head. “And that bothers you,” he murmured. “It bothers you because you broke your own rules. With me.”

“You’re useful,” Stick argued.

“You’re broken.” Another shove. Stick was at the threshold. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me, I really do, but I don’t need you anymore.”

“Maybe not, but you will.”

Matt wanted to say, _You know where to find me._ But he also didn’t want to give Stick the slightest hint of permission. Not that Stick ever cared about permission. It felt like a small victory to keep silent and just give him a final shove out the door.

“Take care of yourself, Matty.” Then Stick spoke a little louder, voice aimed at Claire. “I’ll see you around!”

“You won’t.” Matt shut the door. Locked it. Listened as Stick hovered just outside.

Claire approached from behind him. “Is he still there?”

Matt didn’t move from his position. “Yeah.”

“And he can still hear me?” When he rolled his eyes in affirmative, she put her mouth by the door. “Go put some ice on your wrist! It looks sprained!”

Matt shot her a look of exasperation. “What’re you—”

She pressed her hand to his mouth and cocked her head. Then she made a smug sound as Stick’s footsteps retreated.

Matt waited until he was mostly sure Stick was out of range before finally stepping away from the door. “What was that about?”

“Bossing you around with concern over minor injuries has always been a surefire way to scare you off.”

“So you admit that a sprain is minor.”

“I admit that _you_ think a sprain is minor. Figured he’d have the same mentality.”

Matt stifled a grimace. “Yeah. We’re, uh…we’re a lot alike.”

“Not really.” Turning around to face him, she folded her arms. “Is he always like that?”

“Vaguely ominous? Pretty much.”

“I mean, is he always going on about how helping people isn’t worth it? Or how you’ll get people killed by _playing around_ with them?”

He cringed at the phrase. “Yeah. He started in on that stuff back when I was a kid, when he was—”

“When you were a _kid?_ ” The shock in her voice was practically palpable.

Right. She was the first person since Elektra to know both sides of his life, making it easy, sometimes, to forget how little she still knew about him. “Uh. Yeah. He trained me to control my senses.” He paused. “And to fight.”

“And he was telling you not to feel pity all the way back then?” Her voice was tight with anger.

He wasn’t sure what to say that wouldn’t just make her angrier. “He wanted me to be a soldier.”

“ _Mierda_ ,” she muttered under her breath. “Explains a lot.”

What, exactly, did that explain? “It wasn’t that bad, Claire. In most ways, he saved my life. I could barely control my senses when my dad was still alive. When I was in the orphanage, everything was too—”

“What orphanage?” Her voice was deadly calm.

Matt suddenly wished he was doing something. Eating, walking…even getting stitched up would be preferable to just standing there, trying to field her questions. “St. Agnes.”

“I didn’t know,” she said softly.

“I didn’t tell you,” he countered, turning to shuffle back to his stool at her counter. Not that he was hungry anymore.

She followed, but didn’t sit. Instead, she stood close to him, leaning against the counter across his legs. “Why didn’t he use his sword just now?”

“Because he knows it would’ve killed me,” Matt said heavily.

“ _What?_ ”

“It…it would’ve been a threat to you. So I wouldn’t have stopped fighting him.” Matt fidgeted with the material of his pants. “He didn’t want to lose me. Not before _the war_.”

“The war like…those ninjas who attacked the hospital?”

“Something like that.” He briefly closed his eyes. “If…if they come back, I’ll deal with it. I won’t drag you into it.”

She shook her head. “Like you told him, I’m here to help people.”

She was so…adjectives failed him. Matt swallowed. He’d told Stick she wasn’t his girlfriend. And she wasn’t.

But, oh, he wanted that. He still missed Elektra, and he still missed Karen, but Claire…Claire was different. She wasn’t as destructive as either of them and her moral compass was steadier than anything he’d ever known.

He still didn’t feel like he deserved her. Still didn’t want to hurt her. But like everything else, that was her choice to make, not his. And he no longer believed the things Stick preached. So if he could bring her any happiness, any security, any…anything good, he’d do it. He cleared his throat. “Claire?”

“Mm-hmm?”

“Can I…can I take you to dinner?”

She held completely still.

He was such an idiot. “I wasn’t—I mean—you can say no, I just thought—”

“I hope you’re not insulting my soup. It’s my mom’s recipe.”

“It was delicious,” he said weakly.

“What is this, then? Payment for me taking care of you?”

All right, he could spell it out, if that was what she wanted. “A date, Claire. I’m…I’m asking you on a date.”

“Huh.” Her arms wrapped tighter around herself, but he heard her heartrate picking up. “You’re concussed. You sure even you know what you’re saying?”

“I’m sure,” he said immediately. “Very sure.”

“You’re not just sticking it to that old man?”

She wasn’t saying yes. But she wasn’t saying no. He moved carefully closer, reached out, found her hand. “Claire,” he said softly. “I’ve wanted this for a long time. And you were right, before, to say no. I wasn’t…I’m not proud of who I was.” He hesitated. “In many ways, I’m not proud of who I am. But—”

“I am,” she interrupted. “I’m proud of you.”

That right there was more disorienting than the hit to the head. “What?”

“I’m proud of you,” she said simply. “And I can’t…I can’t promise you more than a date, not yet, but—”

His heart leapt and he felt dizzy for very new reasons.

“I like Middle Eastern food.”

He was already nodding. “I can do that.”

“I have Thursdays off.” Suddenly, she was speaking very fast. “Usually. Unless they need me, but I usually get a heads up. I’ll call you if I can’t make it.”

“This Thursday?”

“Can we?”

He grinned. “Yeah. This Thursday. I know a great place.”

“I’ll trust your judgement.”

She trusted _him_. “Claire.” He said it just to savor the fact that he could. Drawing closer, he brushed the tips of his fingers against her wrists, then skimmed his hands up her arms to rest on her shoulders. “Thank you. For everything.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “It was my pleasure.”

No lie, no lie in her heartbeat. One of his hands he slid over to the back of her neck; with the other, he lightly touched her lower lip.

She rose up on her toes to meet him with a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Come chatter about Daredevil with me at: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ceterisparibus116


End file.
